Perilous Journeys. The Shadow over Rhudaur Part III

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On the road to Carn-Dum, November 8, 1347.
Written by Gordis
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Agannalo negotiated another steep climb among jutted, broken red rocks and stopped his lathered horse. On the left the sun was setting, blood-red amidst the dark clouds. It had been snowing all day long, but now, towards the evening, the cold northern wind blew the heavy clouds away, so right ahead Agannalo was able to see the looming line of the mountains of Angmar outlined against the darkening sky. Straining his eyes, the nazgul followed the mountain chain to its west end and there he discerned a darker shadow, too regular in shape to be part of the mountainside - the fortress of Carn-Dum, his destination. Agannalo looked back surveying the winding road he had traveled all the way from the now distant Angsuul. The town of Angoul he had passed last night now seemed a black dot on the nearest bank of the gleaming frozen river.

The ride through Angoul was the most difficult part of his journey. First Agannalo thought to give the town a wide berth, but he hadn’t reckoned with the realities of the northern winter. The snow in the fields proved to be too deep for the horse, so the beaten road remained the only possible way. He was indeed lucky that Angoul was not a fortress, but just a small merchant town with only a wooden fence around. At night, the gates of Angoul were naturally locked, so he had to knock on the gates first with his fists, then with the hilt of the Morgul dagger to attract the gatekeeper’s attention. When, after much cursing, the sleepy gatekeeper finally emerged from his lodge and opened the gate, he was much surprised to see only a lone saddled buckskin horse facing him. Suddenly the horse neighed, rolled its wild bloodshot eyes, and rushed forward. The gatekeeper landed on his backside near the road, narrowly avoiding the flying hooves. He shook for hours afterwards and no amount of booze could warm his blood.

Another gatekeeper -of the West gate - only had to report that the gate suddenly opened all by itself to let out a riderless pale horse. He was much puzzled and not a little bit frightened, but decided not to investigate the matter. Some mysteries were better left unsolved…

Agannalo smirked at the memory, then laughed outright remembering Hyarion and the girl… Pity he had so little time with her. When washed and perfumed, she proved to be a dainty little thing, an exotic fruit ripe for plucking. And her blood had tasted so good…

Agannalo sighed and spurred the trembling horse again. By now, the buckskin was quite exhausted and hungry, but the nazgul cared little for the gelding. He urged him on relentlessly, striving to reach Carn-Dum before the nightfall. He doubted he would be able to enter easily into THAT place after the gate was shut.

And indeed, Agannalo was the last person to enter before the drawbridge was raised and the heavy iron gates of Angmar’s capital clanged shut. Agannalo had caught up with a long procession of laden wagons that were bringing supplies to Carn-Dum, so he managed to avoid questions at the city gate. He knew he wouldn’t be so lucky at the fortress, though.

“I hope I won’t meet another Hyarion eager to put a King’s nephew in chains” he thought.

Bathed in moonlight, the fortress stood on the mountain shoulder, its many battlements looming over the city. The high tower perched on the rock seemed to float in the twilight sky, graceful and weightless. To Agannalo’s eyes it seemed faintly luminous, beckoning to all his senses, like a light of a harbor warms the heart of a returning mariner. Feeling homesick and weary of travels, Agannalo ardently hoped that the King would welcome him, would permit him to stay – at least for some time, a few centuries maybe…

He rode to the Gates and announced to the bewildered guards. “My name is Silmadan. I am come to see my uncle, His Majesty the King of Angmar.”


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Carn-Dum, Angmar, evening of November 8, 1347.
Written by Angmar
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The supper hour had long since passed when Alassar, the King's Steward, made his way from his apartments up the long, winding stairs to the top of a tower which the king had assigned for his use long ago. Arriving at the landing, Galon, his young apprentice, unhooked the latch and opened the door for his master. A sharp, bitter wind struck them in the face, billowing out their cloaks.

A handsome boy, tall and bearing the distinctive look of one of Numenorean ancestry, Galon considered the important work which he would do that night. The boy occupied a coveted place in Carn Dum, and was envied by the other boys of his social class. The son of a prominent lord of Umbar who had come north in the service of the King, the lad had been only eight years old when Lord Alassar had chosen him to be his apprentice. After that, he had dedicated most of his time to his studies and the tasks which Lord Alassar set him. He was determined to learn the secret arts and become an accomplished sorcerer. In the six years that he had been an apprentice, the boy had made impressive progress.

Galon stood back at a respectful distance and held up the lantern. When he was not studying and helping the sorcerer, the boy had another important task - to assist the Master of Ravens in the rookery, which was located in a large building in the main courtyard. Galon took a special pride in this second high position. He was charged with taking the birds from the rookery to the tower when the lord demanded them. The birds had learned to accept him over the years, and sometimes Galon thought he could understand their speech.

Leaning his elbows on the parapet, his long fur-lined sleeves dangling over the sides, Lord Alassar was silent for a long time. Though he concentrated and tried to exercise control over his body, Galon could not help shivering, for nights were cold here in the north. Not so cold as they had been in other years, the boy observed, for the weather in Carn Dum had been surprisingly balmy this winter. Instead of the howling blizzards and raging storms that he had known ever since he had been in the north, snowfall had not been far less than in other years.

The boy looked down over the great fortress which had been cut into the red rocks of the Mountains of Angmar. He had heard that a vast labyrinth lay beneath those mountains, but though he was curious about them, his master had never sent him there. He could only guess what might lie inside those halls and corridors, but when he thought about it, he was not sure if he wanted to find out. There had been stories...

His eyes were drawn to the great, tall tower where glimmered only a few lights. It was said that His Majesty worked his spells of magic there, but this, too, the boy had never seen with his own eyes. His gaze roamed over the great fortress below which was made up a huge complex of auxiliary towers and other pertinent buildings. Then his eyes dropped lower to the village which had grown up below the fortress. The almost full moon striking the snow covering added amazing clarity to everything.

At last Lord Alassar spoke. "Do you see that, boy, off over there beyond the village?" He motioned with his hand to a dark speck in the distance which was approaching ever closer at a rapid pace.

His words took Galon by surprise and the boy jumped. He had been thinking about a girl whom he had met recently down in the village, a comely lass, a little younger than himself. He should not be thinking of her at all, for she was far below his social station, but she was pretty...

"No, my lord, I am sorry," he stammered. "I did not see anything until you pointed it out to me, but, yes, I can see a rider coming at a furious speed. I wonder who it could be?"

"Whoever he is, he won't be getting inside the walls tonight, for the great gate is barred," Alassar commented dryly.

"My lord," the boy added, "he will have a cold night then."

"Galon, whoever he is, the stranger is of no interest to me." He turned back to look at Galon. "Ready the required items."

"Aye, my lord." The boy's hands trembled as he opened the ebony box with arcane symbols inlaid in silver. He carefully lifted out a dagger of curious workmanship which was encased in an ornate jewel-encrusted sheath. "Here, my lord."The boy placed the weapon in Alassar's outstretched hands. Galon heard the swish of metal as Alassar unsheathed the dagger. His hands still trembling, Galon closed his eyes and held his breath. He knew what his master was about to do, and it always frightened him.

The dagger held upon his open palms, Alassar lifted up his arms in the ancient pose of supplication. In a loud voice, he began intoning,
"Budg-izg Shakhu-ir gothûrz Bûrzum-ob, Melekô durbûrz shum agh Zigûr brogbuz-Tab, bhûl thrâk-izub agh larg-izish gothûrz!"

Galon's knees shook at the mention of the two great lords, and he bowed his head. There was a long pause as the wizard communed with the powers of darkness before his attention returned to the young man. "Galon, the vessel." Galon held the goblet up and inwardly winced as he watched Alassar slice the dagger across his arm. There was no cry of pain, not so much as a sigh from Alassar as the knife did its work and his red blood dripped into the chalice. Galon wondered if he would ever have the powers of concentration and strength that were required to draw his own blood.

This phase of the ritual now complete, Alassar bound up his wounds and cleaned the ceremonial dagger. With the boy leading the way, the two made their way down the stairs to Alassar's apartments. There Alassar left the boy, took the vessel holding his blood to an antechamber and closed the door behind him.

The wizard had just returned from the chamber when a knock sounded on the door. "Enter!" commanded Alassar as he sat down on a chair and waited for the lad to pour him a goblet of mulled wine.

"My lord Alassar, forgive this disturbance!" exclaimed the red-faced, excited guard who nervously entered the room.

"Approach," came Alassar's disinterested reply. "Approach and state why the tranquility of the night has been disturbed."

The guard walked to the front of his superior's chair and bowed. "There is a strange man outside who claims to be the King's nephew. He was making a great stir at the gatehouse, demanding entry into the city as though he were some sort of royalty. Not knowing what else to do, the guards at the gatehouse arrested him. What would you have us do with him? Throw him in the dungeon or take him to the king?"

"The king is deliberating pressing matters and cannot be disturbed with such nonsense. Clearly the man is mad. Throw him in the dungeon." Alassar waved his hand dismissively. "When morning comes, have him whipped soundly and sent on his way. Flagellation is oft times beneficial in these cases." He hid the smirk on his face as he looked soberly at the guard. He suspected that he knew what "pressing matters" that the king was deliberating. He was probably right now with his current favorite, the lovely Lady Gelireth, or one of his other equally charming companions.

"But, my lord," the guard interjected, "this prisoner does not seem like a common vagrant. His bearing is regal, his speech cultured and dignified... perhaps his claims are true." The guard looked worried.

"Oh, all right," Alassar stifled a yawn, "bring him up and I will talk with him. This might be amusing." He turned to Galon. "My goblet is empty, lad. Refill it."

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TRANSLATIONS

I call on the powerful lords of darkness, Melkor the very strong and Sauron His favored, accept my gift and make me powerful. Call-I Lords-on powerful darkness-of, Melkor strong very and Sauron favored-His, accept gift-my and make-me powerful

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Carn-Dum, evening of November 8, 1347.
Written by Gordis and Angmar
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In the guardhouse by the Gate Agannalo waited, outwardly calm, but boiling inside. The wait seemed endless and still no one came to greet him. Agannalo deliberately let some of his power leak out, to keep the guards suitably intimidated and to make his presence more evident to the Captain. Still no one…

Agannalo himself felt the King’s presence strongly – somewhere high in the main tower – and he knew that the Captain’s abilities to feel the presence of beings of his own kind far surpassed his own. “He should know by now that I am here!” thought Agannalo irritably. “What in Ungoliant is he doing at the moment that dulls his senses so much?!”

He remembered that when a couple of decades ago he had visited Gothmog the Third in his solitary fortress in southeastern Harad, the nazgul was the first to meet him beyond the gate. He greeted Agannalo and …misbegotten toad! sent him on his way as speedily as it was socially acceptable. The Sublime Al-Khamul the Blessed, Shakh of Khand, did the same… blast the ruttish doghearted scoundrel... Would the Captain prove as churlish?

Minutes passed, long as hours. Finally the guard sent with the report returned and Agannalo was led towards the main tower. They entered the huge doors, went up a few flights of steps and stopped in front of the double doors richly inlaid with silver arcane symbols. The guard opened the door and let Agannalo through with a bow – which he took as a good sign. However, instead of his Captain, he saw a young richly clad Numenorean, from Umbar by the looks of him, who was sitting at a writing table and was looking bored.

“Now…what do we have here?” asked the man, stifling a yawn. “I am the King’s Steward. State your name and business, stranger.”

“I want to see the King, not his Steward, ” replied Agannalo coldly. “I will be much obliged if you go and warn my uncle. Hurry up, my good fellow, I can’t wait here all night.”

Alassar frowned and narrowed his eyes. Much as the stranger’s attitude infuriated him, he was no fool and noticed several things that the others had missed. The stranger was clearly no “strawhead” as the guards had described him, but a Numenorean, though with unusual coloring. He spoke old-fashioned Westron, close to the ancient Adunaic, much as the King himself did, and had the same distinguished, articulate manner of speaking and the same unusual, chilling accent. Moreover…there was this strange quality in him as well, something that rose goose bumps on Alassar’s flesh and made him shiver as if he were cold…And his eyes… Alassar only looked into their cold blue depths once and had to withdraw his gaze, swallowing hard to hide his fear.

What if this Silmadan was indeed what he claimed to be? The nephew of a heirless King was not someone to be taken lightly. And who knows how high he could rise if the king acknowledged him?

Alassar swallowed again and rose to his feet. “Do you have proof that you are indeed the King’s relative?” he asked at last.

Without a word, Silmadan lifted his right hand …and there on his forefinger was a Ring … a great ring wrought in gold with a clear cold-blue gem. Alassar’s breath caught in his throat. How many times he had admired the King’s Ring, his gaze being drawn to it every time he saw it, his heart pounding like a hammer in his excitement! The stranger’s ring was clearly of the same workmanship. Alassar bowed low to the newcomer.

“My lord”, he stammered, “I am afraid the King is currently occupied with grave matters of State, but certainly tomorrow…”

Alassar felt a slight movement behind and a chill ran down his spine. He sharply turned his head, and there, by the wall, he saw the familiar tall dark figure wrapped in royal mantle. “But how did he get here?” the steward thought in amazement. “Perhaps he has entered by one of the secret passages concealed in the walls, one known only to the Lord of Carn Dum?” Till now, Alassar had no idea that one led to his own rooms.

Agannalo went down on one knee and bowed his head low, in the same fashion as the courtiers in Armenelos had greeted the King of Numenor so very long ago.

“My Lord”, he intoned, “your stray nephew Silmadan is here begging hospitality and shelter”.

Taken by surprise at the king's sudden and unusual appearance, Lord Alassar rose to his feet and bowed low. "Your Majesty, I was not expecting you!" Alassar hoped that the king would not note the look of discomfiture that he was certain must be apparent upon his face. Though he was curious, Alassar thought better than to inquire about the location of the heretofore unknown secret passage. If one were wise, he learned very quickly after coming to the fortress of Carn Dum not to ask too many questions.

"Obviously," the king remarked coolly, a note of amusement in his voice at Alassar's uneasiness. "Ah, I see that my nephew has already introduced himself to you. He often has a way of making himself known when you are not expecting him. It is a habit of his to which every one of his acquaintance must become accustomed. He is also fond of making grand entrances, quite magnificent appearances, actually. People are always impressed by them," he chuckled, a faint twinkling glow in his eyes. Lord Alassar's eyebrows arched questioningly at what he considered criticism by the king of his nephew.

"Your Majesty, the value of grand appearances depends upon the occasion, and I am sure from what you say, your nephew must be the master of it. I will keep that in mind," Lord Alassar chuckled good naturedly, but Agannalo sensed the sarcasm in the man's remark.

Turning to Agannalo, the King surveyed him disinterestedly before speaking. "Rise, nephew. I had been expecting you to arrive for some time, but I note you are late. Perhaps you have had some unfortunate delays on the journey. I trust you came through your adventures well. I am sure you will have much to tell me later."

“Your Majesty," Agannalo replied most humbly (as feigned humility had always been the best course of action, when dealing with the Captain). “Thank you for acknowledging me. My heart is glad to behold you again, dearest Uncle!” Agannalo sniffed and swept away a non-existing tear. The King watched him silently, not impressed.

Having mastered his emotions, Agannalo continued. “It was most difficult to reach Carn Dum and to get to see your Majesty, as your country is guarded well. The Lieutenant of Shedun fortress, this arrogant fool Hyarion, never believed my claims to be your relative. He has treated me in the most outrageous, humiliating fashion, and stole the priceless weapons I carried and the harp, most dear to my heart, a parting present from my late mother…” Agannalo sniffed again, this time more for the Steward’s sake than the King’s. “I beg you to make the thieving knave return my possessions!”

At the mention of “weapons” the King frowned. If Agannalo’s Morgul knife had fallen into mortal hands, it was definitely not good. The King turned to Alassar. “Summon the Lieutenant of Shedun here!” he ordered.

The Steward bowed. “It shall be done right away, your Majesty.”

The King nodded to the Steward. "Lord Alassar, now if you will excuse us, this young rascal and I have many things to discuss and many reminiscences to share."

"Certainly, sire." Lord Alassar moved to open the door for the pair. The thought struck him that perhaps that was not necessary, and the king and his nephew could go back by the way the king made his appearance into the room. Discretion told him otherwise, but he promised himself that when they were gone, he would take soundings of the walls to see where lay the hidden door or doors. This would be purely for his own information. One should know where one might find secret escape routes. In any event, he was sure that the king would never be aware of whatever he discovered.

"Oh, yes, Lord Alassar, see that this young fellow is put up in our best... guest room. See to his comfort. Ah! But I forgot something. The fine young fellow will not have need of company to warm his bed. You see, he is a deeply spiritual man, and he has taken a vow of chastity to... keep his.... soul pure and spotless. He devotes all of his time to purely philosophical and intellectual studies. He is to have free reign of my library, to satiate his deeper needs."

Alassar nodded politely. "Aye, Your Majesty, all will be as you have ordered."